Parade

Stheno leads the group of Aegoth, Alrena, Ameer, Athalos, Chiam, Crixos, Kiet, Lii, Minifie, Reyson, Sacira, and Syndra.

As the celebrations begin, you hear the thumping of drums being played in the distance, a bassline that reverberates through your very bones.

Distant voices shout from the mountainside, rising as one with the uniformity of a military drill.

Clad in distinctly colourful clothes, Stheno stands tall at the Crossroads, her head tipped towards the edge of the mountain. Her porcelain face is still, waiting for some unheard cue from the rocks below. A multitude of flame-coloured ribbons are threaded through her pale hair, which is pulled into a tight, tousled mess with a leather thong. Red warpaint is streaked in a single line from her top lip to the bottom of her chin, shining like blood.

A colossal, one-person ritual drum hangs against Stheno's hip, its weight supported by the thick leather strap across her shoulder. She seems unbothered by its weight, a pair of bachi sticks held loosely in the fingers of one hand.

Stheno lifts her eyes to you. They spark with a sudden incandescence, and she springs into action and raises the sticks above her head.

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Mhaldor, this year we celebrate the City of Evil."

Chiam's blue-grey eyes narrow as a slight smile crosses his face.

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "We celebrate Strength in all things. We honour our traditions, our tenacity, our new blood and our old."

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "We reflect on our beginnings and our present, centuries from the City's conception. As you were conceived in blood and sacrifice, so too shall you seep into the world and spread His Dominion to the unknowing."

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "This year we look to your future, and the reshaping of the world in His image."

At these fateful words, Stheno drums a short trio of beats on the mhunskin of her drum.

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Hail, Lord Sartan."

Stheno exclaims in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Hail the Lord of Evil!"

Chiam Nithilar says in a thick, hoarse voice, "Hail."

Aegoth says in Mhaldorian, "Hail, Lord Sartan!"

Minifie says in Mhaldorian, "Hail the Master!"

Ameer says, "Hail Lord Sartan."

Admiral Lii Lichlord says in Mhaldorian in a cold, smoky voice, "Hail, Lord Sartan!"

Jurixe S. Nithilar says in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Hail, Lord Sartan."

Athalos, Stygian Spinner says in a deep, reverberating voice, "Hail, Lord!"

Insid'atori Kiet Aristata al-Azhan says in a clear, confident voice, "Hail, Lord Sartan."

Sacira says in Mhaldorian, "Hail, Lord Sartan."

The ghostly procession now steps into view. Ascending the treacherous path to the gates is a parade of Mhaldorians of all shapes and sizes.

Mhun slaves labour under the weight of their heavy chains. They drag an iron dreadnought of a float on viciously spoked wheels.

Your raised voices envelop them, echoing and bouncing off the iron.

A huge, turquoise-scaled xoran mans the float, one taloned foot perched on the skulls littering its deck. Smaller lizards mill behind him.

Drummers and chanters come garbed in the colours of the setting sun, penants flaring from their instruments in violent reds and oranges.

A cavalry of black and chestnut horses trot in impeccable lines at the rear of the procession, breath steaming from their nostrils.

The cry goes up again around the Idolatrix. "Hail, Lord Sartan! Glory to the Malevolent One!"

Stheno says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Now look around you at the City and rejoice, for our history surrounds you. Our long night's work stretches behind and ahead of us, through all the years of our lives."

Stheno says authoritatively in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Mhaldor, we march."

Chiam beams broadly.

Aegoth nods his head emphatically.

At a rallying drumroll from Stheno, the rest of the parade falls into line behind her, and all together you set off towards Purgatory Road.

As you pass the silver-veined megalith, a chorus of cawing goes up from the dusky-skinned dancers threading their way through the crowd.

Costumed in dark silks and the odd vibrant feather, they brave the cobblestones barefoot, cutting the soles of their feet on sharp rock.

Blood gleams on the road behind you.

The road veers steeply down the mountain, carved into the rock itself. If you lost your footing here, only the chains would save you.

The military precision of the parade is clear in how neatly they file into a thinner, snaking march, led by Stheno's chiming footsteps. There is the lone, terrified scream of someone slipping from the narrow incline, the sound of their terror fading into the long fall, before it cuts off suddenly. Heedless, the parade presses on, descending into the Circle of Damnation.

A giant vulture swoops past you, drawn by the human wreckage and entrails on the jagged rocks below.

The statues of the old Houses of Mhaldor surround you, kneeling for the dark and terrible visage of Lord Sartan in the centre of the chamber.

Stheno pauses in her drumming to lower her head before His statue, bowing deeply in her skirts. Her energy shifts from joyous to quiet and reverent, and she holds too still for the light to catch in her gold. The drumming continues without her, as the chanters hum a wordless paean.

Stheno whispers in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "Praise Evil."

Still bowed, Stheno lights a single black candle at the foot of the idol. Its small flame flickers, resolute, against the hot gusts of wind blowing in off the island.

Stheno rises and steps away, and as though drawn by a siren call, the rest follow.

Aegoth parades staunchly.

Each of the seven towering pillars here is etched with one of the Seven Truths.

Tendrils of inky mist slither through the Holy City's streets and then fade around Syndra as she materialises at the front of the parade. Bedecked in the triune color of white, black, and red, her customary hood is lowered, freeing the tightly-braided length of her indigo hair woven through with fine crimson filaments.

Snarling with latent rage, Syndra's Baalzadeen stomps in from the ether carrying the stench of the Inferno in his wake, and wielding a small mhun-skin drum. The drum has been suspended and tethered to his chest by bloodied, razor-sharp hooks, the cruel implements digging furrows into the skin, and coating his chest in ichor.

The demon joins the other slaves as he raises one herculean fist, and slams it down with a hard percussion. The beat Syndra's Baalzadeen creates is sedate at first, a begrudging heartbeat filling the air, before it picks up pace.

Syndra strides forth with an exaggerated cadence to her steps. Her knee lifts high, splitting the seam of her ankle-length skirt around her supple limb, the tips of her toes pointed, before she drives her leather-covered heel into the granite with a sharp click which coincides with the snarl and thunderous strike of her demon's war drumming.

Syndra flings her right arm in the air with sudden violence, a leader giving a signal to her army to pause, before she spins fluidly into an angry crouch. Black leather spreads over the ground from the full length of the vest-like exterior garment adorning her body, the swarthy hue acting as a counterpoint to the red mist slipping through the streets.

Bursting into the air from her crouch, Syndra's body strains high as she leaps like an arrow shot from a bow, unerringly aimed at her target. Her right leg swishes back, balancing the thrust of her left arm, and creating a perfect arc out of her petite body before she lands.

As both soles grace the ground again, a crimson-hued daegger whistles towards Syndra at her behest and humming with unstifled rage.

The slight daemon levitates near Syndra's withered fist, its sole eye gleams with malevolence as she unfurls a length of crimson ribbon. She attaches the end of the streamer to her daegger, letting it cascade before her like a gout of fresh blood.

Syndra spins abruptly, her right hand pointing towards the circle of stones surrounding the parade. The daegger shoots towards one of the massive granite pillars towering here. The crimson silk crackles and furls in the air as the daegger stabs into the darkness, the serrated teeth snarling and snapping along the stone floor in a shower of sparks.

Taking a running leap, Syndra fluidly arcs into the air, one arm extended towards the daegger and sending the minion to do her lethal bidding, while her left leg kicks out in a graceful and fluid arch.

Syndra lands beside the daegger, both demon and wielder striking at an ephemeral enemy with utmost grace.

A shiver of necromantic power surges into the air as Syndra's arm shoots out again. A lash of sable ribbon snaps into being from between her fingers, before she recalls the gossamer strap and twirls it about her head and body like an oncoming storm.

The black ribbon spins around Syndra's silhouette as she darts into the faux fray, the long length of fabric eddying around the necromancer as if she was gathering her power for a lethal strike.

The daegger swirls around one of the seven pillars, mirroring Syndra's form as she twirls between them. The twinning of crimson and black silk trails behind the Marshal's slight body, rippling like rivulets of blood and power against the bone-white stone.

A half-jump and a flash of black ribbon eddy like smoke around Syndra's twirling form as she dips and weaves between the pillars.

The drumming picks up into a frantic pace as Syndra's demon uses both fists on the snare.

A sudden gout of blood-red silk blooms into the air as Syndra's daegger shoots high, arching over the heads of the entertainers, and then stabs down as if gutting their shadow opponent.

With a victorious cry piercing the air over the heavy drumming, Syndra twirls into the heart of the parade, dancing with vicious grace while her daegger spins around and around her twisting body.

Syndra crouches back where she started and then unfurls to her diminutive height. A diabolical grin sunders her pale lips as she begins the march once more.

Spurred by the Lord Marshal's war dance, the soldiers give up a rallying cry and kick their horses along. Entranced or just loyal, the rest follow.

A roaring bonfire greets you in the hearth hall, amber-bright across the coats of the blood steeds and their riders. They paw the ground nervously.

On the float, the xoran grins with all his many teeth. He breathes a great gout of fire into the firepit, making its flames leap to the high ceiling.

The others part their jaws and add to the conflagration, spitting fire like scarlet banners. Their multicoloured scales are illuminated by the inferno they create. Silently, Stheno takes a swig from a flask at her hip and raises one of her sticks to her mouth.

Stheno breathes a plume of red-gold flame into the air, gilding her face in firelight before it falls back into shadow. She licks the ignition fluid from her lips.

Aegoth claps his hands together merrily.

Hooves clatter on the iron bridge.

The familiar howls of agony reach your ears, as you stride past the occupied prison cells and towards the Red Square.

Crimson light suffuses the wall-to-wall frescoes, tinting each faceted tile and reddening the rainbow of colours.

Lii lowers her head as she slowly brings her slender alabaster arms in front of her. As her short hair falls forward, her back arches slightly. Soon sweat beads appear upon her brow as the air surrounding you begins to heat up to a barely tolerable temperature.

The images on the frescoes seem to move slowly. Moments later the daemons and chaos monstrosities appear almost ghost-like about you.

Lii weaves in between the daemons and monstrosities, nimbly dodging as they wage war. She twists to avoid a blade before leaping over a fallen chaotic entity, her hands quickly moving to cast a reflection spell.

Lii casts a spell over herself and a reflection of her appears next to her.

As the battle intensifies, Lii stretches her arms wide. Slowly raising her hands, she pauses as she gazes at those gathered. Her black gaze is fixated upon those fighting.

As a daemon swings its blade down, nearing her throat Lii remains impassive as she coldly commands, "Freeze!!"

All of Lii's reflections wink out of existence!

The two armies freeze at the command, their hatred of one another apparent. The air stills as though causing time itself to pause.

Lii fashions a holocaust globe out of pure elemental fire and arms it.

Admiral Lii Lichlord says quietly in Mhaldorian in a cold, smoky voice, "Utter destruction shall befall all who stand in the way of God and His Army."

Chiam nods his head emphatically.

The holocaust globe ominously stops pulsing for a fraction of a second, and then explodes into a fiery conflagration that consumes all around it.

Sacira's flesh burns away and she is blinded as her eyeballs melt and run down her face. In the instant before her entire being is consumed by the inferno, you are able to see her skeleton, burned clean of flesh and organs. Then, she is no more.

The rest of the chaotic monstrosities are obliterated, not even ashes left.

Stheno gives Sacira a slight nod.

Lii crafts a mysterious vision, directing it towards Sacira.

The haunting trill of reed flutes joins the tempo of drums and voices.

Tirelessly, Stheno beats her drum. Tirelessly, the parade marches to the beat of it. She strikes up a brief storm of drumming with her bachi, her eyes bright with intensity and impending exhaustion.

The silken dancers acquiesce to it with their feet, cavorting around the ghastly garden of statues, of beasts tangled with women.

Aegoth parades staunchly.

Reyson follows along atop a blood steed like he owns the place, straight-backed and menacing in his war garb.

Stheno's drumming pauses again. She retrieves an arrow and the golden bow slung over her shoulder. Another flash of her hand, and one of the ribbons from her hair is tied to the shaft like a red flag.

Nocking the arrow, Stheno aims it high and lets loose, watching it carry over the City.

Stheno exclaims in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "To the Conqueror Iniquitous!"

As one, the archers in the parade loose their arrows, some mounted, others on foot. They sail through the sky in a high arc. Then they fall to earth.

Screams. Steel pierces flesh, and several paraders are left pinned to the cold ground.

The show goes on. The slow are left behind. The weak and the injured are trampled underfoot, crushed by iron-shod hooves.

As the parade begins to draw to a tumultuous close, it completes its circuit through the City streets. The drumming reaches a fever pitch.

Stheno beats out a staccato heartbeat, her chest heaving and her arms taut with the effort of drawing sound from her great drum. The flutes keen. Her hands move in a blur of motion, faster, faster, until you can feel the drums pulsing with the blood in your veins.

As one, the drums stop with a final bash of stick against mhunskin.

The riders rein in their fuming horses, banners held high on spears spiked with the skulls of the lesser citizenry. Now at the forefront, they lead the fray.

Finally, the procession retraces its path down the mountain, back to the Vashnars and the farther reaches of the Red Isle.

Stheno seems about to follow in their wake, before she remembers herself with the rapid flutter of her eyelashes. She stops, mopping the sweat from her brow.

Stheno smiles and says in Mhaldorian in a golden voice, "To a millennium of Evil, Mhaldor."